I was reading entries done by the CSU students on blogster with Rumi in their minds. I decided to look up the poem on “Love is Reckless ” and ended up writing this letter instead….
Dear Papa,
When my days would get busy and events start happening almost at the same time, I often looked forward to our lazy Sundays when I would cook the noon time fare for the entire family. It wasn’t the meal that made the day peaceful, although we all ate the food in silence. Not because we didn’t appreciate it, but that’s how we were brought up. Discussions were made before or after meals. One has to eat the food while it’s hot in order to appreciate it.
It was in those hours while I’d let the food simmer in its juices that I truly miss spending time with you. I’d sit under the old swing that you made under the mango tree in our backyard and you’d be smoking 12 feet away with the morning paper on your lap. We’d discuss politics, philosophy and people until mama would shout from the kitchen that lunch will be ready soon. We would then continue the discussion after lunch and resume our places under the trees.
We have talked about almost all topics save one. Love. No, I am not asking for your advise. Not after a failed marriage [that neither of us and the entire family, sorry – entire CLAN, regrets]. Not even after the kind of relationships that I formed after that. I ask because as a parent to another parent, what am I to tell my child about it? Hmmm. Ok. I am asking for advise.
Time is coming soon when my son will fall in love and I truly do not know what to tell him. I am not even sure if by that time, he will heed the counsel of the years – my counsel, no matter how flawed and riddled with mistakes I’ve had with my life.
The kind of family life I live now is far from normal [by Filipino standards]. I know that my son will learn to love based on how his parents loved each other. This is my fear. There’s only one of me…plus my relationships. In spite of all those relationships, I am still no expert for I have stumbled, risen and stumbled, again..and again. I’ve only learned the lessons from the mistakes I’ve made. I remember my grandfather, your father-in-law, saying that love is a race that goes not to the one who runs the fastest, but to the one who keeps on running. So far, I’m the only one in the family that has had pitstops in this race! Not only do I get to refuel and recharge, but I end up changing partners too.
I believe I have learned from the mistakes you and mama have made. I have learned that if I dare to love someone whom I feel in my heart of hearts deserves such love, I will not regret it. But even the noblest and purest intentions will NOT assure me that I’ve made the right choice. Yes, I have been reckless and have ridden the rollercoaster of emotions that Love has offered and yet – I can’t find any reason to feel remorse or anguish as I live Life.
My Life. I have also learned because of your death, that with matters of love, only I will know whether or not I made the right choice.
The swing has been taken down now, although the trees still give that shade under the harsh noon sun. Mama and I no longer talk about anything else except you and my brother. Yes papa, these are the times when I wish you were still alive, so that my son would have a man-to-man discussion about these topics. Issues that I am sure you will be able to discuss with him with a dose of Plato, St. Thomas Moore, Gibran or even Rumi on the side. And yes papa, during times like these I do miss you.
Rics
